


Adore Our Dreams, Our Consequences

by Badnews



Category: DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Animal Death, Character Death, Corpse Desecration, Death, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Missing Scene, Murder, and ive said yes, cause I have decided, have we decided yet if dsmp has corpses?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:55:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29815632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Badnews/pseuds/Badnews
Summary: Dream wishes Sam would stop visiting, every time his tag appears through the thick bubbling lava walls and he calls out his voice would reignite fire within Tommy, bringing promises and gifts. Then, inevitably, he would leave and in his wake Tommy would spit and claw at Dream once more.-----Missing scene of tommyinnit's live stream where he lost his last canon life, set directly as stream ends
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Sam | Awesamdude & TommyInnit
Kudos: 68





	Adore Our Dreams, Our Consequences

**Author's Note:**

> This is really morbid. Like, really... I wouldn't reccomend reading it. I feel like this could be classified as dead dove but I have def seen more detailed things that deserve dead dove and they werent marked it so idk, anyway if u still arent convinced, pls be careful! 
> 
> C/W: read the tags! Corpse desecration and manipulation, gruesome burns and animal corpses, plus general isolation issues
> 
> edit: not tommy killing his character on stream, letting people mourn him for two days and make a million fanworks and then saying 'fuck u' and coming back to life ruining everything smh

Dream was sick of Tommy. He was tired of the constant talking, the complaining, the whining. Tommy wasn’t like this in exile, in exile Dream had beat this out of him early on. In exile Tommy knew the consequences but here Dream had only a cat, a couple empty books, and a sink and Tommy had thrown all but one of those things away during the last few hours. 

So yeah, Dream was angry, and sick and tired of Tommy. 

Ever since the explosions Tommy spent days in denial, refusing the possibility that they were stuck together again, refusing being abandoned, refusing food and company and opportunity.

Dream understood him, in that moment Dream was really the only one who could truly understand being separate from friends, from freedom, and from choice. He spent weeks himself alone with only a clock for company. Stuck in a purple box contemplating who was on the outside- if they even cared.

Dream understood Tommy, they were so alike it was painful but where Dream had gone through this grief Tommy was just starting. Jagged edges slashing and ripping away peaceful conversation. 

Sometimes day would pass and Tommy would lose his thunder, stripped down and exhausted from hoping and finally Dream could make some progress. They would quietly whisper from opposite corners and Tommy would listen to Dream weave tales about Sam's rules and how the prison works and in return Tommy would talk about what was happening since his detainment, of course not spared of biting comments about how much better the server is without Dream. Dream knows it's a lie. 

Dream wishes Sam would stop visiting, every time his tag appears through the thick bubbling lava walls and he calls out his voice would reignite fire within Tommy, bringing promises and gifts. Then, inevitably, he would leave and in his wake Tommy would spit and claw at Dream once more.

It was a repeat of exile. The rapid highs and lows of visitors and alone time. 

Today Sam came by, dropped off their second meal of the day personally instead of letting the automatic pistons and redstone do it job and while Tommy yelled through the lava Dream leaned again the chest and idly wrote useless words and ignored the figment of hope being physically speared through, hole left gaping. 

Sam had left despite Tommy’s pleas and when the man had finally faded and Tommy’s voice lost its gusto the boy had turned his frustration, built from claustrophobia and the humidity of the room and a million other nuisances, onto the only other person who could reach back. 

He fought and he bit and not for the first time it turned into a fist fight. A glance of knuckles on the shoulder, a press into the purple walls, shaking their heads and fists at each other in a bid for some common sense. 

It was not the first time Dream had knocked down Tommy, knocked him down until the boy was gasping from past or present injury, knocked down until he saw the afterimage of friends that haven’t appeared for days. 

With a final curse Dream’s knuckles had landed a rattling blow into Tommy’s jaw. Tommy, weak from heat and exhaustion, had stumbled and fell into the sinks edge and landed onto the solid floor with a thud and didn’t get up. 

Dream’s ears were ringing. He straightened his posture and cradled his palms together protectively, he was heaving, chest silently taking great gulps of wet air and he reminded himself that he wasn’t suffocating, he had his mask. 

Dream took a step over Tommy’s prone form to reach the sink. He cupped his palms for water and pushed it on his neck and bare forearms to wipe off the sweat.

He clutched the edges of the sink. Licked his parched lips and revelled in the silence, enjoying the bliss for as long as he could before once more Tommy would wake and come up flying. 

Dream sunk down to the smooth flooring, slightly warm from the near lava but cool against the water droplets, and dozed, feet barely brushing Tommy’s shins. 

Dream tried to create a balance with his new cellmate, ever since the beginning. Dream started off with his own moments of solitude in the early morning, like clockwork he would wake to the out of the subtle pistons moving in the wall to deposit food down into the water shoot but Tommy, still adjusted to the rise and fall of time determined by sun and neighbours, would still sleep on.

In the early days when Dream ached for socialization he would take his share of breakfast and then sit next to Tommy’s cot and watch him breath, feeling the air shift, the coolness of his skin and the twitch and turns of rest. 

Dream in those days was starved for it and often Tommy woke up screaming, not due to his own twisted dreams, but from shifting from dream to suddenly Dream, too close that Tommy could smell the man’s breath. 

Out of everyone in the server if he had the choice Dream wouldn’t have picked Tommy for a cellmate. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a choice, but he took every opportunity with eager greedy hands. 

Tommy talked so much and said so little, he repeated himself, he made jokes, he poked Dream’s buttons but it wasn’t anything Dream hadn’t already seen, hadn’t already expected from him. The lack of reaction often made Tommy louder, more angry, more hurtful but in the end Sam said not yet, not out yet. Dream was loving it. 

Sam had been so apologetic. When Tommy had raised a ruckus on the 7th day, correctly estimated from their twice daily meal intake, Sam had weaved kind words and genuine worry. Sam gently dropped in a cat from the hatch, more fresh water from the facets, more books and a new clock. 

Dream was overjoyed. 

Tommy was not, he continued to call out on the 7th day to no one. 

The gifts were blindingly new. For months Dream’s hands had only touched the slickness of water, the leather of binded books and the machine made smoothness of the floors and walls. 

Once or twice he had torn pages from the notebooks into the tiniest shred he could manage and would pile them on the floor for extra bed padding and in the moment it had seemed so soft. 

Compared to that the fur on the cat’s back, belly and tail was indescribable, his deprivation from soft, fluffy textures made it that much more valuable. For hours touching the furry creature felt like setting fire to his palms, all nerves alight.

When Sam visited and ultimately would leave with empty hands Dream would have so much fun twisting it further, driving a blade into Tommy’s thought process and egging on destruction.

He had missed it. 

It was addicting, using words and people that Tommy couldn’t reach, couldn’t be reassured by to damage and prick his skin until Tommy would bleed and cry. Sometimes Tommy tried to get a hold of himself, coaching himself through breaths and pushing himself into the corner of the room. Getting so close to the lava wall that his arms had been brushed with red.

He pushed himself into the corner and would sweat from the heat and Dream would try over and over again to get Tommy to take that final step into the lava. He knew that if he just said the right thing at the right time Tommy would gaze into scorching liquid and wouldn’t come out. 

He dreamt about it sometimes.

He dreamt that Tommy would block his ears and close his eyes to get away from Dream, from Dream’s smugness, dreadful poetry and waxing words and not see his final step, tripping over his feet and melding into the barrier-less wall. 

Tommy would be screaming himself raw. His eyes would fling open and burn at the touch of lava invading the fragile sockets. He would blink around the thick sludge of molten rock and be blinded by the heat in a second. 

His skin would melt onto bone and as he reached out it would harden on the cooling pores and cool blood that would rip and splatter, red bubbles crawling across flooring. His hands would reactively try to catch himself from a stumble and they would reach into the lava like a hug and he would scream more as the lava ate him away, first rising the skin and transforming blood into pus and fluid. 

He dreamt that Tommy would accidentally brush the lava with a swinging foot as he backed himself into the corner. 

Dream would crowd him and he would lower himself to take a swing, open his stance and his feet, bare and slick on the smooth flooring would slip into the lava and Tommy would attempt to pull himself out, he couldn’t even scream, breath stolen from pain. 

In these, Dream would stand and watch the boy break finger nails and skin to get a hold on the flooring to pull himself away from the ever flowing pull of rock and he would just watch and smile and his eyes would burn, not wanting to blink and miss a second of it. 

Sometimes he dreamt Tommy would fling himself in, unconcerned, he would still scream in regret, calling out to Dream for help in his last precious seconds with wide eyes. 

Every so often he dreamt Sam would finally lower the walls of lava and open his arms to the boy in apology and Tommy would be ever so grateful, so relieved. 

His skin would be so sensitive against the cold man’s armour and Tommy’s eyes would open with a new light- a glint so similar to Dream’s own that its like his face was a mold for Tommy’s pores. Molded like clay into his skin. A smile would pull at the boys cheeks and Tommy would back to look Sam in the eyes.

He would smile and open his palms to Sam and when the man reached out Tommy would give a firm nudge, pushing Sam into the lava.

They would both stand together and laugh as the man felt the lava slowly trickle into the crevices of his armour and scald him. Sam would plead and call out and Tommy would mock his words, disdain and hatred an echo of Dream’s own gravelly voice. 

They would both have twin laughter as Sam succumbed to lava digging into his skin and reaching his blood and flowing through him. 

He had such pleasant dreams when Tommy was around, he never wanted to give the boy up. Despite everything he was truly good company compared to the buzz of his own thoughts. 

Dream rolled his heavy head off the warm wall and looked at Tommy, crumbled uncomfortably on the ground, face slack. Dream sighed, crossed his bare arms and watched the too still boy. A contrast to the constant noise of the awake.

His eyes inevitably shifted to the corpse of the cat in the corner of the room, next to the chest. 

It’s paws and jaw limp, immovable and fragile, a sack of bones and too soft fur. 

There was a little bit of sadness at the death of the animal, but he was above attachment, the corpse of a cat would still be as soft as the coat of a living one. The softness would persevere for as long as the humid air would conserve flesh, weeks before rotting it apart. 

Dream would treat it well until inevitability struck. 

Dream brought himself slowly to his knees and shuffled over to the limp animal. His fingers throbbed when pressed lightly against the flooring but he ignored it and instead delicately slipped the limp head into his arms. He folded it like a baby in his embrace. Running a few sore fingers over its feather soft flank which held lungs which would never move again. 

A shiver of nausea deep inside of Dream echoed as he watched the jaw of the cat limply open and shut with the swaying motion of his breaths but like everything else he pushed it down, it was only a cat. 

Hours passed while Dream sat in silence, thoughts devoid as he pet the corpse and watched Tommy prone form. He convinced himself it was just in case the boy decided to wake up screaming murder, looking for something to hurt, real or not. 

It was always funny watching Tommy wake up, his eyes would sometimes be light with pleasant thoughts. Like he would forget where he slept, imagining himself on the floor of his hut or on the couch of his friends but then reality would return. He would spy the lava or the slick purple flooring and his gaze would crumble, teeth gritting with grief all over again. 

Yes, an awake Tommy was interesting but a sleeping one was hilarious. 

They had lost their clock, Tommy had thrown it away like everything else and Sam hadn’t yet replaced it so Dream couldn’t tell how long he sat and waited for the next meal or for wakefulness, all he knew was the slow decrease in potatoes as he slowly curved tongue and teeth around its raw skin.

Dream had gotten quite good at losing time- losing himself in his head. 

Distancing himself from the world and going limp, eyes open and unseeing. Sometimes Dream could amuse himself for days without eating, constructing ideas and rolling mountains out of the sounds of his hunger pains, dragons and mobs and adventures he once had. 

Eventually Dream ran out of potatoes, his distracted nibbling had decreased his salvaged pile of spuds and if you asked him he wouldn’t be able to tell you how many he had eaten, it all tasted the same and without the variety of meals came the absence of meaning to eat at all.

It was all bland. Often Dream forgot how to chew and forgot why he should. 

He shuffled over, careful of the corpse on his lap, and fished some potatoes out of the water in the corner of the cell. He ate one, then another just for routine’s sake, and looked up at his cell mate who had still not moved. 

Tommy hated missing meal times, complained that Dream didn’t wake him on purpose.

Despite how much Tommy hated Dream, despised him and fought him the green man held no disdain for his cellmate. So he glided the animal off his folded legs and fished one more potato out of the pile, shaking it to leave most of the water behind before making his way over to the fallen boy. 

Dream nudged Tommy’s arm with his leg and the boy’s head rolled limply to the side, revealing the rapid purpling of his jaw. Dream frowned, he must have hit him harder than he thought. 

Dream admired how his swollen hand was the same colour as the boy’s jaw, as if he had taken a bare hand to purple paint and spread it across his face before dropping the few potatoes next to Tommy’s closed eyes.

Dream sat down next to him and tapped Tommy’s forehead with his uninjured hands, squirming his fingers close into Tommy’s neck and giving it a brush of skin on skin which would normally jolt him into wakefulness.

It did not work today. 

Dream gave a heaving sigh, only a little annoyed. He shook his head and tutted at the boy, “You cannot ignore me forever Tommy, your dreams can only have you for so long,” He breathed, leaning close.

Dream heaved the boy’s upper body into his lap where the cat was only a moment ago and decided to wait for Tommy to wake up. Idly petting the boy’s greasy hair as he waited. 

Dream hummed a noncommittal tune and tucked a strand behind the boy's ear. It was so quiet now, he wished Tommy would wake up sooner rather than later.

He remembered sitting together like this in exile long ago when they were both healthier, when Tommy’s shoulders didn’t quite dig into the meat of his thigh, when their clothes were warmer. 

When they could be sitting on the beach bank and watching the waves before the night came. Tommy was so nice before, before prison, dare he say they both were better before. Life was unfair, everyone on the server knew this, they all progressed despite it. Dream smiled as he closed his eyes, imagining the look on Sam’s face if he saw his young friend and old prisoner cuddling close in the box of problems.

Unleash pandora now, Dream dared him. 

Dream tilted his head back to touch the smooth wall and fell asleep to the ripple of lava. 

Once again he had pleasant twisting dreams, twirling around his fingertips, moulding his memories.  
He dreamt that Tommy was dead, sprawled against the floor and his chest didn’t move and his pulse didn't show and no matter how much Dream shook him the boy wouldn’t wake up. 

He dreamt that Tommy was just playing, was just too tired so mercifully Dream allowed him to rest but every morning with the click of the mechanical mornings Tommy would not wake up.

Dream dreamt that Tommy was limp, that his fingers were grey and Dream realised that he wasn’t going to wake up.

He didn’t cry, why would he? 

Dream smiled and he mourned in the same way for the soft corpse of the cat which had already begun to deteriorate, becoming more tendons and fur then flesh.

The potatoes began to smell of flesh, the taste of rot but it was all the same to Dream. 

When Sam didn’t come by Dream laughed, only the redstone to hear him.

Dream dreamt about sticking the boy’s unresponsive fingers, nails, and arms into the lava. Left arm first, watching the lava sizzle and bake and char the skin, release the smell of burnt flesh and hair into the stale air of the cell. 

Dream would stick an arm in and bring it out again to watch the trails of lava sizzle and pop against his pale flesh, rapidly rising lanes of blisters and peeling skin, sticking and melting the flesh into sludge and rotting it off the bone layer by layer and Dream would look up at Tommy’s youthful face and he would look so peaceful. 

Dream dreamt that he anchored the small boy’s legs between his own, pinned against the obsidian flooring and he would take Tommy’s remaining arm, gripped steadily into his arms and let the rest of the torso and head hang limp and he would dip the boy into the lava as if he was dipping strawberries into melted chocolate, coating it and pulling it out to see it drip off and sizzle onto the floor. 

He dreamt about lava swallowing his head, his blond hair and blue eyes completely until nothing was left. 

He would take the boy out and his bones would be charred and flesh would be limply sticking to the cheekbones. He would spy lava mixing with ash and brain matter. Dream would take the boy out, dump his charred mess onto the floor and it would squelch under his feet as the fluids spread and spilled out. He would laugh at the image of Tommy with empty sockets and decaying muscles, twitching even after death- Was he alive?

He really loves these kinds of dreams. 

When Dream woke next, he was alone.

**Author's Note:**

> ok ok hear me out- HEAR ME OUT!!!
> 
> I was reading a bunch of comics because everyone is sad because wtf even was that last stream? literally no explanation? Everyone is scrambling for info? Anyways- it got me thinking like, schlatt lost his last life and had a corpse right? They literally sold his body parts. I cant remember if wilbur had a corpse or not but i've made the executive decision that idk for how long but dream was alone in a fuckin 6 x 6 foot box with potatoes and mutiple corpses and I fuCKIN RAN WITH IT
> 
> Logically, if there even was a corpse, Sam said he was 'too late' so he was on his way to split them up and save tommy right? So rest ur head and think about how this wouldn't really happen in canon because Sam probably collected tommy's corpse real quick (someone should run with THAT LOL)
> 
> anways yeah ive been working on this since 4pm and now its midnight and my butt hurts and this has so many pelling mistakes! Please feel free to point them out in the comments if you see them! Or cry in the comments about the stream


End file.
